Blank
by Daelan
Summary: [[Complete]] Daisukecentric. Cutting. 'It gently tracks its way down your skin and it’s refreshing and takes all the bad things with it, all the abuse, all the pain, the hurt.'


Blank

We'd destroyed a lot of dark towers today. XV-mon had done a lot of the work and was now dozing in my arms as a very tired Chibimon. I was walking alone with no one to keep me company, and Chibimon was too tired to talk. That's why I started to think.

I have a perfect life. My parents are wonderful, caring people. I can live with the yelling and hitting. Jun-san is a tad protective, but loving. I don't mind that she never sees me.

I tighten my grip on Chibimon as I enter the house, kicking off my shoes. "I'm home!" I call out loudly, and immediately wish I hadn't. I can hear china breaking in the living room. Yells. I peek in, shielding Chibimon's eyes, even though he's asleep. They're at it again. A vase lies right next to the door, right next to me, and it twinkles. I swear it's winking at me seductively. Well, why not? I bend and capture one of the larger violet shards in trembling fingers. Then I leave. Otou-sama and Okaa-sama don't notice I was even there.

I lay Chibimon on my bed and cover him up with a blanket, tucking him in. He looks peaceful as he sleeps, turning slightly. I feel a pang of sadness for a moment. He turned away from me.

Rising, I go to the bathroom. Thankfully, it adjoins my bedroom, and I don't need to compete with Jun-san for it. Locking the door behind me, I go over to the cabinet and get out disinfectant. I drizzle a little of it over the edge of the china, hoping the color won't be marred. It isn't.

I sit down in the bathtub and look at the shining edge. I press it gently against my wrist, directly over the pulse point. The china feels cool and soft and hard and warm and I can feel the throbbing and pulsing of my veins beneath it. I wonder for a moment what it would have been like, as I move the shard away. Arms are out of the question. I always wear short sleeves.

I swiftly push my shirt over my head, leaving it hanging on the rail. I have bandages in my pockets, and I find them quickly. I place them where the soap is supposed to be.

The little shard of china seems to glow, almost. Like his eyes. I wish I could tell him. He has beautiful eyes. I touch the china to my bare chest. If I close my eyes, and they are closed, I can pretend it's a blade. It's a sharp, metal razor, the king I usually use. I don't know why I'm even using this now. There's no reason, and it won't be as clean. It might take a long time for the scar to fade. It might push the six-month time-frame. It might even break it. The china's thick, though sharp.

I'm comfortable, though, in my tub, and I don't want to get up. I trace a line across my chest lightly. Then again, pressing harder. A red welt rises in the wake of my make-shift blade. Once more, and I've made a tiny tear. Skin is a fragile thing, even backed by muscle, or perhaps because of it. It can dull your blade quickly, but it breaks easily. It's nothing more than a simple piece of glass, cover-slips used during biology lessons. It is broken easily, and then the blood flows. It gathers in tiny red tears at intervals along the wound, then gradually a few of them join together, and they grow bigger, and eventually one finds the courage to start moving. It gently tracks its way down your skin and it's refreshing and takes all the bad things with it, all the abuse, all the pain, the hurt.

But it's too thick. I can see that now. The china isn't cutting smoothly, neatly. It's dragging my skin apart. It hurts, and it's worse than it usually is. I guess I can't use this. I drop the bloody china in the tub and reach for the bandages.

Now here's a slight problem. I try reaching around my back so I can wrap the bandages around my chest, but the cut starts pulling and hurting and it isn't the usual sweet pain. I don't like it. I have to find some other way of covering up the wound.

I fold the bandages into a thick wad and press it over the cut. I could use tissue, I guess, but the bandages are much more absorbent than the kind of tissue Okaa-sama gets. I have to get up now, so I sigh and heave myself to my feet. Get down, get out, it's pretty, this pain. Get to the cabinet, open, look. Shimetta, no tape. I open the door and softly pad into my room, thanking the stars above that Chibimon is still asleep. I know I have masking tape here somewhere. Drawer? Study desk? No, no. Where did I leave it? Realization dawns on me. Shimetta, shimetta, shimetta! I loaned it to Jun-san! She said she needed it to patch over a hole in her… Come to think of it, that's an excuse I use frequently to get masking tape. Ah, the irony. A slight smile curls my lip. I flop onto my bed, avoiding Chibimon, and the bandage falls away uselessly. I stare up at the ceiling and try not to think. Just make it all go away… just make it…

Blank.

~owari~


End file.
